A Days Training
by Lifaen
Summary: Roger Federer trains for the French Open. Didnt know were else to post sorry guys.


A Days Training

The mid-afternoon sun cast its warm rays across the beautiful city of Paris, the air was filled with voices all excited about the up coming French Open. Roger Federer casually hit the approaching tennis ball across the net as he began warming up for his final practice session before this first match the next day.

Roger swung at the ball getting a good feel from it which gave him great confidence for the two week tournament, he stood in the middle of the baseline dancing on the soft red clay beneath his feet as he warmed up. His physical instructor nodded to him, giving him the signal for the practice to begin. Roger's fellow countryman Stan Wawrinkia increased the pace of the rally from the other side of the net causing Roger to stand back from the baseline a little bit more so he would have more time to strike the ball.

Roger's movements were elegant and graceful as he danced behind the baseline practicing sliding into the ball to return the small round object. His thoughts drifted to the huge task that lay ahead of him, three times he had been in the final only to be defeated by none other than Rafael Nadal, many refereed to him as the King of clay he was near untouchable on the surface. Last years final had been an embarrassment by anyone's standards but by his own it was like he had never played tennis, his victory over Rafael the week before in Madrid in he final had given him a great confidence boast and he was intending to take it all the way.

"_This time I will fight for every point until it kills me, I'll show them that I'm not done yet" _Roger thought to himself as he struck the ball like would during an official match, peppering the court and smiling at the popping sound that echoed around the empty stadium as his racket made contact with the ball.

He was the only man in history to defeat Rafael in a clay court final and only the second to defeat him twice on clay, he took comfort from the two defeats he dealt the now world number one in those two finals and smiled slightly and the celebrations after the match. Roger's train of thought was cut when he heard the sound of the ball nestling itself into the net, after shaking his head he hit his shoes lightly with his racket to rid them sole of the loose clay that clung to them before he started another rally with the ball in his pocket.

He let his racket glide through the air like it was a feather striking the ball as if it were but a stone skimming across the water, he looked forward to the grand slam ahead and hoped he could finally achieve the win here at France for the first time. If he could swing his way to victory he would have finally have won all four of the grand slams, and achieve his fourteenth grand slam championship tying himself with Pete Sampras with the all time record, he would try and break it. He had been hurt when people had written him off after his defeat at Wimbledon the year before, he was determined to prove all those critics wrong by breaking that record and show them that the former world number one would still fight.

The hours wore on and by the end of the final training session Roger wiped the sweat from his brow before walking to the net to thank his fellow countryman. He embraced Stan at the net in a gesture of friendship before walking over to his racket bag placing his rackets back neatly. He slung the large bag over his shoulder walking over to his team which consisted of his newly wed wife Mirka who was expecting their first baby sometime in the summer, his mother and father and his physical training instructor.

He turned back to look at the court and the large centre court stadium around him, he only hopes he could see his fans cheer as he finally strikes championship point in two weeks time.

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I wrote this because I fell this is the time for Roger to win the French. Although the odds are still slim I feel if he is ever to win it has to be this year, good luck Roger.

Tell me what you think.


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